"Walk slow," Ralph said. "Otherwise you'll wind up on your face."
"Right." Spector was breathing heavily. "What the hell were you doing here anyway?"
"It's my taxi back home." Ralph laughed. "I live over in Fresh Kills on Staten Island."
"Fresh Kills?"
"The largest landfill in the country. Maybe in the world. They'll be taking these four barges over tomorrow morning. I only came over because some relatives of mine were in town fbr Wild Card Day. Wanted me to show them the town."
Spector plowed forward. "You live in a garbage dump?"
"Sure do. You'd be surprised the things people throw away. Perfectly good stuff Sanitation workers tried to run me off a couple of times, but I always come back. The rent's too cheap to pass up." Ralph put his hand on Spector's shoulder. "Do you know any aces?"
Spector stiffened. "Not personally. Why?"
"Because I'm one. I've got power."
Spector was too tired to keep going, and sat down. "You're an ace and you live in a garbage dump. Do I look like an out-oftowner or something?"
Ralph smiled and picked up a milk carton, paused dramatically, then took a bite out of it. He chewed for a moment and swallowed. " I can metabolize anything. That's what that Dr. Tachyon said. What's garbage to most folks is food on my table."
Spector laughed. "You can eat garbage. That's your power? Bet everybody stays out of your way."
Ralph crossed his arms. "Go ahead. Laugh your head off You know what I save in a year on food and rent alone? And I'm my own boss. Nobody tells me what to do. Nobody tells me when to come or go. That's more power than most people ever get to have."
"You got a point. Look, I'm pretty tired. Maybe you could help me. I'm looking for some notebooks wrapped in plastic. There's money in it for you."
"All right. But we've got to do better than a cigarette lighter or we'll never find them." He tapped his thumbs together thoughtfully. "Sparklers ought to work. Got plenty. I'll be back in a minute."
"Sparklers?"
"Yeah. I got a bunch of fireworks I was going to set off at midnight. Sort of my own little celebration. You wait here." He pushed through the garbage toward the other end of the boat.
Spector stuck his fingers through a couple of the bulletholes in his jacket and chewed his lip. If he managed to survive today, he wouldn't get out of bed for a week.
Chapter Seventeen
10:00 p.m.
The Rolls was only a couple of blocks from Aces High when the phone started ringing. Fortunato looked at Peregrine, who shrugged and picked it up. "It's for you," she said.
"This is Altobelli," the voice on the phone said. "I made Hiram cough up your number, there. It's about Kafka."
"Fucking hell," Fortunato said, closing his eyes. "He's dead."
"No," Altobelli said. "Still alive. But it was close."
"Tell me."
"About fifteen minutes ago some weirdo in a white robe just appeared in the middle of the holding cell. But I believed you and I had a SWAT team there, and when he went for Kafka they opened up with everything they had."
"And?"
"They didn't hurt him. But the bullets kept knocking him down and each time he was a little slower getting up. Then he just disappeared again."
"You were lucky. He's weak right now, or nothing you threw at him would have stopped him." Fortunato didn't say anything about how weak he felt himself.
"This guy, whoever he was, had more than luck on his side."
"What do you mean?"
"Not over the phone. You remember that place we met last month? Don't say the name, just say yes or no."
"Yes."
"Can you meet me there? Like right away?"
"Altobelli…"
"I think we're talking life or death here. Mine."
"I'm on my way," Fortunato said.
When he hung up the phone Peregrine said, "The Astronomer."
Fortunato nodded. "I'll take a cab. You go back to Aces High, where you'll be safe."
"That's ridiculous. I'm safer with you. And there's no point in taking a cab when you can go in style in a chauffeured Rolls Royce." She raised one eyebrow. "Right?"
After shooing out the few remaining regular customers, the Gambiones had moved their meeting into the main dining room and scooted several tables together. Guns and wariness were much in evidence. Rosemary stood at one side, watching the men argue. Bagabond saw an undecipherable smile on her face. The bag lady sat with Jack at a banquette along a side wall.
"I want to start looking for Cordelia. It's been hours-much more time than I promised Rosemary." Jack glared across the room at the assistant district attorney.
"Until this is finished, she can't make the calls." Bagabond glanced sympathetically at Jack, who was tugging at the stained sleeve of his too-small white waiter's jacket. "Now eat."
Squeezing the lime over his soup, Jack shook his head and picked up the chopsticks. He pulled a mass of rice noodles and shrimp out of the bowl in front of him. "What's she going to do without the books?" He jabbed the chopsticks toward Rosemary.
"Don't know. She's made her choice now. She'll manage." Leaning her head back against the booth, Bagabond closed her eyes. "I'm going to find out if anyone has seen Cordelia. Quiet."
Jack eavesdropped on the Mafia maneuverings as he ate and refilled his bowl.
Two men were the faction leaders. The older man, black hair slicked back and dressed in a charcoal-gray doublebreasted suit, stressed the sublime importance of continuing Don Frederico's plans in the interest of stability. A younger man, his dark brown hair expensively trimmed in what Jack would have described as a modified punk cut with a rat tail, pointed out that the Butcher had not been particularly effective in ending encroachments on their territory. The other men listened without comment.
"Not one of the other Families has ever challenged our authority." The older man leaned back in evident satisfaction. "Christ, Ricardo. Of course, they haven't." The new-wave Mafioso rolled his eyes toward heaven. "They've all been busy with the real threats. The Vietnamese. The Colombians. The jokers. Jesus, can't you see that Jokertown's turning into a nickel-plated disaster area, man?"
"Respect, Christopher, please." Ricardo inclined his head sympathetically toward Rosemary.
"Thank you, Ricardo Domenici." Rosemary stepped toward the tables.
"She's heard worse, Ricardo. Even in the DA's office, I'm sure she's heard much worse." Christopher Mazzuchelli shook his head exasperatedly. "The point is that we must have as a leader someone who can face the new threats. You know, evolve."
"Mazzuchelli's right." The stares of all the Gambione capos pivoted toward Rosemary. "We must have new blood to lead us, or the Family will be destroyed. It's that plain."
The older man sounded placating. "Signorina Gambione, this is a serious issue. It is for us to decide. It would be better perhaps-"
"Yes, Ricardo, I am a Gambione. The last." Rosemary caught each mans eyes in turn. "This is my Family. I have a right to speak."
"Maybe she wants her father's job." Christopher Mazzuchelli grinned until her gaze returned to him. "Maybe I do." Rosemary smiled a thin and enigmatic smile. "Donatello is dead, and likewise Michaelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo. Four dons. You understand what we face, but not what to do. Ricardo sees only the past."
"Wait a minute." Mazzuchelli's mouth hung slightly open in surprise.
"Who better?"
"You're a fucking district attorney!"
"Yes." Rosemary smiled as she appeared to consider the possibilities. "I couldn't protect us completely, but I could make a difference. And the information would be invaluable."